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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






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Sonnets and Lyrics 



BY 

V 



JAMES A. WHITNEY, LL.D. 



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New York : 
/ N. TIBBALS & SON, 

124 Nassau St. 
18S4. 



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Copyright, 



JAMES A. WHITNEY. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER, 
J^WLJ^ZlJ^Trl WHITNEY, 

WHO DIED THIRTY YEARS AGO. 

A MAN OF KINDLY HEART AND GENTLE WAYS, 

WHO, FROM YOUTH TO AGE, 

FEARED GOD AND KEPT HIS COMMANDMENTS. 

THIS VOLUME 
IS REVERENTLY INSCRIBED. 



CONTENTS. 



Santa Rosa, --.... i 

Escambia, - - - - - -2 

Hours in Scotland, - - - - - 3 

On the Hackensack Meadows, - - - 12 

Dies Ir.^, - - - - - - - 13 

The Monk of Capri, - - - - 18 

The Banshee, - - - - - - 21 

Lily and Violet, - - - - - 27 

Asphodels, - - . . _ - 29 

Cymbals, - - - - - - 32 

Zathan the Sadducee, - - - - - 33 

To A Portrait of Nell Gwynn, .. . . 36 

Two Roses, - - - - - - 40 

Magnolia Grandiflora, - - - - 42 



SANTA ROSA, 



Broad oaks and trailing moss and barren sand 
Level and deep and drifted as the snow 
In the far north where yet the spring tide glow 

Had yet no promise. On the sultry strand 
The little ebb and flow of sleepy waves, 
And, from the way apart, a field of graves 

Whereon was sun and silence, and the tomb 

Knew grace of roses budding and in bloom. 

And oft, when cold upon the Tappan Zee 

The north wind blows, comes memory to me 
Of deep white sands beneath the sultry flood 

Of noontide sunshine; and gray-bearded trees 
With silence undisturbed by breath of breeze: 

And dream of scentless roses, bloom and bud. 



ESCAMBIA. 



Were I a dreamer, seeking only rest 

Or sweet cessation from unwelcome toil. 
Within these gentle forests, it were blest 

To lie at ease upon this sun-kissed soil. 
Sharing with nature all her idleness 

And all her bounty of bright summer flowers: 
Her warm airs gently wafted with the stress 

Such as loved lips may breathe in loving hours. 

For not in Arcady was softer calm, 

And not on Hermon were light winds more free. 
Nor yet more slender is far Egypt's palm, 

Than are these pines. Nor yet o'er land or sea 
Lies sky more azure. Here from morn to night 

Might dreamer dream with drowsy, slow delight. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND, 



STIRLING. 

They told me how, in angry winter time 

From out the hills swept storms that marr'd the face 
Of the broad plain with sombre frost and rime, 
And locked the waters in their cold embrace. 
But now from battlements I saw the turn 
, And glimmer of still rivers. All the strath 
Wore garniture of blossoms, Bannockburn 

Flowed peaceful from the hills devoid of wrath. 

So from the storm of shiver'd axe and spear, 
And clanging claymore straken on the shields, 

So long ago, the half a thousand year, 
On these far lying, low and level fields 

Came forth thy freedom, Scotia. For thy sword. 
In thine own hand, hath made thyself thy lord. 

3 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



11. 
CENOTAPH OF THE VIRGIN MARTYRS. 

Here, on the gentle air the white flower's scent 

Is sweet and heavy, from the low slope blown: 
And shadows of light branches careless blent 

Fall restlessly on oillar and on stone. 
But not for these my thought. Yon marble shows 

In sculptured grace, the tribute of our day 
To the fair maidens who, where Solway flows, 

With hearts untroubled trod the martyr's way. 

These were thy heroes, Scotland. And more great 
Were they than were the chieftains who, elate, 

Flung wide their banners on yon castled ridge. 
And I, — for that within these veins of mine 

Flows blood of Bunker Hill and Bothwell Bridge — 
Do stand with head uncovered by their shrine. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



III. 
HOLYROOD. 

Gray walls unroofed, and with the open sky 

Serene and clear above the grass within. 
And o'er the tombs, wherein no longer lie 

The ashes of dead kings, grow mosses thin. 
Through the unwindowed arches, soft and sweet 

Blow summer winds; and lowly, golden crowned 
And rayed with silver petals, at my feet 

The wild weed-blossoms dot the hallow'd ground. 

Like to an old refrain, the moral kenn'd 

When wild flowers bloom where walls of stone decay, 

And roofs are fallen so the high clouds send 
Far sailing shadows, soft and silver gray. 

Along the floor of ruined nave and aisle 

Where on the stones the mosses sleep the while. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



IV. 
VENNACHAR. 

I rode along the edge of Vennachar, 

The wild rock-roses nodded by the lake. 
Slow swept the evening breezes. Thrown afar 

The shadows waver'd on the branching brake: 
And on the rock-rose shone the setting sun, 

Unshaded by the light clouds drifting by. 
The wild rose sprang above the herbage dun, 

So, thus it blooms, I said, 'neath ev'ry sky. 

And then I thought of many a story told 
To my far childhood, how ayont the sea, 

Lang syne my people dwelt. And cote and fold. 
And lake and rugged hillside, seemed to me 

Like pictures from old songs. So, far and nigh 

Hath Scotland kindred under ev'ry sky. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



V. 
ACHRAY. 

Upon the lake the dusk fell dreamily, 

The coppice at its edge was damp and chill. 
Careless I flung a wild rose, wide and free 

The scattered petals floated where the hill 
Cast its broad shadow on the waters, dark 

And darker growing while the shadow waned 
Into the deeper darkness: and the mark 

White lined along the shore, alone remained. 

Then Una's legend, to my wayward thought, 
Took newer form as by the marge I stroll'd. 

And of the myth my fervid fancy wrought 
A picture fonder than was that of okL 

For Benvenue a couchant lion lay, 

And like a maid asleep was fair Achray. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



VI. 
KATRINE. 

The sunlight on bright waters, then the shade 

Of sudden gathered clouds. Anon, the burst 
In wayward impulse of the rain that made 

A dotted level of the waves that first 
Were joyous in bright motion. Then again 

Lay light on lake and on the mountain brown. 
While purpler still from cooling touch of rain 

The tufted heather from the cliff looked down. 

Then, as we passed by Ellen's bosky isle, 
Thou hast beheld, I said, of all thy days 

The pictured reflex. Sun that shone the while 
Thine heart was careless, and whose mellow rays 

Died in the shadows, and the kindly sway 

Of light that came when storm was passed away. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



VII. 
ARKLET. 

Loch Arklet hath of fame but little share. 

Its narrow banks are broidered with the sedge 
Amid whose sleiider stalks the silt doth bear 

No harvest of sweet blossoms. At its edge 
No bourgeons of green branches droop and sway. 

Nor maze or vista opens at its side: 
The bracken cover'd braes are dusk and gray 

And no bright ripples on its breast abide. 

But yet beside its banks, a little space, 
The traveler lingers, for the tale is told 

That this dull water mirror'd back the face 
Of the fair Helen whom Macgregor bold 

In yonder shealing wooed; that Rob Roy's bride 

Had humble birthplace by yon mountain side. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



VIII. 
OBAN. 

A resting place was Oban for a night. 

The dark ridge rose behind. The sea before 
Swept rippling westward to the rosy light 

That heralded the eve. The clouds remote 
Were level lines of silver; and thereby, 

And interwove, the crimson lay afloat 

Upon the deep'ning azure of the sky. 

Aye, red and white and blue. In mine own land, 
These hues are of the sunrise and the dawn. 

Yea. From my dwelling on its eastern strand, 
Where now my children play upon the lawn, 

To fair Pacific coasts where soft and slow 
Upon my feet the wave lapped long ago. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



IX. 

Yea. Red and white and blue. The wand'rer calls,. 

Back to his thought thy colors, where the skies. 
Are alien o'er his head; though round him falls, 

The voice of kindred speech, nor yet denies 
He fondness for the vales his people knew 

In the old days, ere thou, my native land 
Had raised thy starry banner, white and blue 

And sunrise-crimson on the distant strand. 

In the old days. Aye. That the seeding time. 
And these the realms wherein was freedom sown. 

Its harvest whitens in the happier clime 

Of mine own land beyond the western foam. 

Twas thus I ponder'd when the sunset burned: 

And in the morn my face was homeward turned. 



ON THE HACKENSACK MEADOWS, 



Clear, wild, and free upon the twilight plain 

The prairie fire swept on with lightsome dance. 
Now stooping to the earth, then high again 

Darting toward the sky with tongue and lance: 
With wreaths of serpents coiled in smoky gold. 

And transient stars that blazed and fell away: 
While to the stream its fervid volume rolled 

Where quench'd its flame in scatter'd ashes gray. 

Lo. Fitter symbol than an arrow's flight, 

Or grass that grows to fall beneath the scythe — 

Of transitory life is this weird light 

Entwined with cloud so both together writhe. 

And drift and waver, till their glamour dies 

In the low sedge where yon dark river lies. 



DIES IR^. 



Day of anger lurid breaking 
On the earth in ashes quaking, 
To its doom at last awaking. 



Through the cloud by lightning rifted 
See afar the Throne uplifted, 
Now shall every thought be sifted. 

III. 

Clear and far the trumpet calling 
Stirs the dead from sleep enthralling 
Into consciousness appalling. 



14 DIES IR^. 



IV. 



Coming fearful, sadly, slowly, 
There the proud and there the lowly 
Gather in the Presence holy. 



V. 



Where the open volume's story 
Shows, of all the ages hoary. 
All of shame and all of glory; 



VI. 



None his record there denying; 
None unto the Judge replying; 
There, through justice, hope is dying. 



VII. 



How shall I, to sin assenting. 

Guilty, evil, unrepenting. 

Meet the Vengeance unrelenting, 



DIES IR^. 15 



When the righteous, timid, fearing, 
Scarce are saved Thy presence nearing, 
And Thy words of judgment hearing? 

IX. 

Pardon, Father, my offending: 
For my weakness, vigor lending; 
To my doubting, faith extending. 



Hearken, Christ, Thy promise olden 
Clasp I now as anchor golden. 
That I from the wrath be holden. 

XI. 

Yea, for me Thy anguish bearing 
Long ago, the thorn crown wearing. 
Wilt Thou leave me now despairing ? 



i6 DIES IR.^. 



XII. 



While my scroll of life is reading 
Aid me with Thy interceding 
While there yet is time for pleading. 



XIII. 



Humbled, bent, and bowed, and broken, 
Of Thy love I ask the token 
That Thy word for me be spoken. 



XIV. 



While I trust Thy mercy blending 
With the justice that, unending. 
But for Thee would be unbending, — 



XV. 



So that while the wicked, flying 
From the wrath, intense, undying. 
Fill the gloom with bitter crying,— 



DIES IR^. 



17 



XVI. 



Let me, as the sheep are riven 
From the goats to darkness driven, 
Place at Thy right hand be given. 



XVII. 



Safe from terror, dark, assaiUng; 
From the doomed ones' woe and wailing; 
At Thy fiery Throne's unveiling. 



THE MONK OF CAPRI, 



The boats that rocked by Capri's shore 

Were blest by priest the summer morn; 
But I, a reckless youth, forebore 

To bow my head, and laughed to scorn 
The prayer low-toned, and benison: 

Despite the grieving words I heard 
From one I loved and wooed and won 

Where Capri's almond branches stirred 
Beside the sea. I cried, The voice 

From sable cowl is not for me, 
The brave and strong; await, rejoice, 

I yet return to wed with thee. 

The fishers of the coral deeps 

By buoyant winds were borne away 



THE MONK OF CAPRI. jg 



Far to the South, where Afric sleeps 

Beneath the glow of tropic day. 
Our dredges from the deck we cast 

Through many a week of weary toil 
Amid the reefs; until at last 

Our boat was weighted with the spoil. 
Then day by day the joyous sun 

Our shadows threw upon the foam, 
Until, the northward journey done, 

We saw the towering cliffs of home; 
And signalled gayly, while a song 

Broke from my lips in cadence free; 
Oh, maiden, list, the time was long. 

Yet I return to wed with thee. 

Ay, arms as brown as almond husk 
Shall clasp me as I come, I said. 

And soft eyes glancing in the dusk 
Are mine to greet ere eve be fled. 



THE MONK OF CAPRI. 



They hailed us as we touched the pier 

With shout and laugh from one and all, 

But not for me were hail and cheer, 
I of it only this recall: — 

The cowl thrown back from steadfast eyes, 

The low voice toned in sympathy, 
That said, My son, awake, arise. 

Though death its woe hath sent to thee, 
Our Father's peace be on thy brow; 

The light that yet on sea or land 
Hath never shone illumes her now: 

Hearken and pray and understand. 

Now, sable cowled, as he before, 

I bless the boats that sail to sea, 

And send to them from Capri's shore 
The benison not meant for me. 



THE BANSHEE. 

Where shone the firehght dying, I, a wee boy was 
lying 
Long ago, the while the grandames told in whispers 
low and wise, 
How on mountain and in valley, in broad mead and 
forest alley. 
The Banshee calls in sorrow before each mortal 
dies; 
And how a man wayfaring with full heart joyaunce 
bearing, 
May sudden hear the wailing voice and chill with 
horror grow: 
For he knows his home forsaken by one whose flight 
is taken 
When calls the mournful spirit from the meadow or 
the snow. 



THE BANSHEE. 



And I said, with childish valor, neither fear, nor faint, 
nor pallor 
Would come to me should e'er I hear the sad wraith 
crying lone: 
I would search until I found it, I would hold until I 
bound it, 
And wrenched from out its shadowy lips the secret 
of its moan. 
But not in summer's glory, nor yet in winter hoary. 
Though many a year of change and chance to me 
did come and go, 
Heard I the Banshee calling, till once, mid snowflakes 
falling, 
A voice came wailing, crying, from ayont the drifted 
snow. 



THE BANSHEE. 23 



I had ridden far, yet royal strode my bonny horse so 
loyal 
That with slackened rein I rode him across the 
broken ground, 
Till he sprang aside, affrighted, and his eye, with ter- 
ror lighted, 
Gleamed on me as I turned him when he started at 
the sound. 
For, with me, he heard the wailing, us both with fear 
assailing, 
And I scored him with the rowels and I gave him 
stroke and blow 
Till, while the snowflakes glistened, he trembling 
stood and listened. 
Listened with me to the crying that came from o'er 
the snow. 



24 THE BANSHEE. 



I thought — I am belated, but for thirty years I've 
waited 
Since they told to me the legend of the death 
wraith's warning cry; 
And the marvel I'll be sounding if this horse of mine, 
rebounding, 
In the gully does not throw me where the broken 
branches lie. 
So, from the roadway drifted, through the field where 
deeper sifted 
The flakes like feathers floating on the night wind 
blowing slow, 
On through the wintry weather, the horse and I to- 
gether 
Plunged on to meet the Banshee far wailing in the 
snow. 



THE BANSHEE. 



25 



So, the horse and I, his master, went onward fast and 
faster, 
While the snow spun Hght behind us as from the 
storm the spray. 
And the sound seemed far, and nearer, now duller 
and now clearer. 
Till- he reared upon his haunches with sudden snort 
and neigh, 
For standing right before us where the rapid gallop 
bore us, 
A slender form was swaying, a wee bit form and 
low, 
With the snow wreaths heaped around her, my baby 
girl, I found her: 
My little girl, I found her, sadly crying in the 
snow. 



26 THE BANSHEE. 



I knew not she had wandered and the dying daylight 
squandered, 
Chasing for the feathers that were falHng from the 
sky, 
I her to the saddle lifted and through the snowbank, 
rifted 
By the heavy horse's gallop, we bore her, he and I. 
Half an hour — the journey ended — light and shadow 
interblended 
Where the fire upon my hearthstone shone clear 
with steady glow, 
While the mother watch was keeping; in her low crib 
softly sleeping, 
Lay the weary little maiden, the Banshee of the 
snow. 



LILY AND VIOLET. 



I. 

I saw a Calla lily's stately growth 

Swerve in the passing breeze, in garden soil 
Nurtured with gentle care. And nothing loth 

To wear its beauty, I with eager toil 
Strode far to grasp it, till its pallid grace 

Lay captive in my warm enfolding hand. 
But soon I murmured — I did foolish chase 

A phantom charm. For not in all the land 
Blooms there a flower so scentless: drooping lies 

The veined, involute leaf. The golden core 
Scatters dead dust: nor evermore shall rise 

The waxen stateliness I knew before. 
Vain is my trust, and all my hope is vain — 

I flung it by, nor sought for it again. 
27 



28 LILY AND VIOLET. 



11. 

Calm and sedate, as one who, dangers past, 

Forever hence takes heed upon his way, 
I sought a forest's shade where sunshine cast 

Through slow stirred branches many a soft ray 
In wav'ring fretwork. There in mellow light. 

Amid the shadowing ferns, a violet grew 
In waxen beauty. And my envious sight 

Noted its slender grace that charmed anew 
With each new glance. So, Fain was I to wear 

This white, sweet bourgeon of the dreamy day. 
With petals trembling as I reached it, fair 

Within my folding hand it cherished lay. 
It still I hold while eve with day is blent; 
The treasured o-uerdon of a heart content. 



ASPHODELS. 



In summer time, in sunny France 

Eight hundred years ago 
Tl:>e sunset shot with dart and lance 

Through branches dense and low, 

On courtly knight and lady fair: 

In garden all ablown; 
Its odors sweet upon the air, 

And colors gayly strown. 

He gather'd gently from the ground 
Three flowers of varied hue, 

Lo, Here, he said, a sign be found 
Of that which thou shal't do. 

29 



30 A SP HO DELS. 



Here, purple to its heart, the rose; 

The lily's snowy breast. 
And here the asphodel that grows 

Where holy saints have rest. 

So hold them, while in yonder cloud 
The crimson fades to gray; 

And tell me ere the vesper loud 
Hath closed the pleasant day. 

Is not the rose more fair, more sweet, 

Than is the lily's bloom. 
Or golden asphodels that meet 

The sunshine on the tomb? 

Her soft eyes drooped; afar the sky 

To silver ashes grew; 
While still the twilight wind crept by 

And slowly fell the dew. 



ASPHODELS. 31 



No words were hers, to cheer or chide. 

She gave the asphodel, 
And low and broken words replied 

In brief and sad farewell. 

The roses drooped, the lilies died 
And snows lay on the plain. 

Anon, There brought the summer tide 
Its garden blooms again. 

Of asphodels upon her pall 
With careful hands they laid. 

Gather'd beside the convent wall 
In cold and ashen shade. 

In mail he lay, in alien land, 

On field of battle won; 
With asphodels in glaived hand 

That grew on Ascalon. 



CYMBALS. 



The distant voice of clanging cymbals broke 

Upon the air; a gypsy's wanton feat 
Of rattling music. Yet its echo woke, 

To the day-dreamer idling in the heat 
Of fervent noon, the sounds of far off lands 

And days remote. Of Magyar warrior's tread,- 
Of Moorish maiden's mirth, of voice of bands 

Rejoicing where Hebraic altars shed 
Of frankincense and myrrh their odors rare. 

Aye, of the elder time, when Egypt's hosts 
Went forth against the Assyrian land and there 

Made captive kings; returning with the boasts 
Of high wrought conquerors. And clamor high 

Of Bacchic dances where no longer fills 
The cup from Libyan vines: the frenzied cry 

Of Corybantes on the Phrygian hills. 
And joy of Jepthah's daughter ere her moan 
The cymbals silenced in far ages flown. 

32 



THE REVERIE OF ZATHAN THE SADDUCEE. 



Far on from the fountains of morning to the deep 
flowing rivers of night, 
I pause for a moment and ask me: O wherefore the 
warmth and the hght ? 
For the heat of the noontide but wearied, and the 
glow of its splendor denied 
To mine eyes the fair view of its glory in the blue 
of the heavens descried. 

And wherefore the cool of the twilight, for the herbage 
is drooping and dank. 
While the lizards creep out from the covert by the 
spring where the camels have drank; 
And I learn not the riddle eternal, why follows the 
night on the day, 
So that all that the sunlight hath gilded by the even 
is hidden away. 

33 



34 Z A THAN THE SADDUCEE. 

Thus blinded I toil in the noontide, and wearied I 
wait in the dusk: 
Shall I seek some oasis of silence sweet scented 
with roses and musk ? 
Shall I listen to voices persuading, that ask me to 
cease in the quest ? 
The low soft songs of Dalilah, slow lulling to treach- 
erous rest ! 



Shall I trust in the joy of the cymbal ? sounds blythe 
as of birds in the air: 
The calm of the fast and the vigil, the passionate 
peace of the prayer; 
They linger awhile and elude me, they cheer and then 
vanish away. 
As the cloud that one moment is crimson, at another 
drifts sodden and gray. 



ZATHAN THE SADDUCEE. 



35 



So the journey is vain and the labor, and the yearn- 
ing is vain and the trust, 
As the flower that springs up by the wayside and 
withers again to the dust. 

As the harvest that waves to the zephyr, with vigor 
and beauty aHve, 
Sinks into the ground with the earth-worm, and 
dies that another may thrive. 

And naught is the task I accompHsh, and naught is 
the journey I go; 
For even as was the beginning, thus even the end- 
ing, I know. 
But a vanishing dream and a troubled, from the foun- 
tains that dance in the dawn 
To the sad, sullen waters that ripple where the glint 
of the sunshine is gone. 



TO A PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 



I. 

With winsome smile, as if alive: 

She looks from Lely's canvas fair. 
Upon her cheeks the roses strive 

With lilies on the bosom bare. 
'Tis but a dream. Ten score of years 

Agone, she passed beyond the vale 
Of shadows, whence no form appears 

To tell the burden or the tale. 

Yet. As I joy to see the sun 
Shine placidly on field and lea; 

Or sparkle of bright waters run 

From forest fount to brimming sea; 

So, gladsome, to mine eyes appear 

These beauties, dust two hundred year. 
36 



PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. yj 



Aye. Gladsome smiles she on the wall. 

The student lingers as he looks, 
So he, forgetful, may recall 

His memories of the history books. 
For these the lips that, near the throne, 

And these the eyes, to prince and peer, 
Spake words of power in dulcet tone. 

Gave glance that boded woe or cheer. 

For thus since Eden's apples fell 

Hath of the world been will and way. 

Nor evermore shall stories tell 

Of hearts controlled by gentler sway, 

In evil days, when truth was fled. 
And courage faint, and honor dead. 



38 PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 



III. 

Full frail this lady was, and fond 

Of all that hermits feared and spurned. 
Not her's the pages saints have conn'd! 

Nor her's the lessons martyrs learned. 
Not her's the peace that mothers know 

Who call their children to the knee, 
And tell in whispers soft and low 

The legend sweet of Calvary. 

'Though rose and lily contrast yet 

On cheek and bosom languid shown — 

'Twas thus the rose and lily met 

Ere yet two hundred years were flown— 

They show unto the thoughts of men 
The beauty of the magdalen. 



PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 



39 



IV. 

Severe the thought. A shifting cloud 

Gave changing Hght on face and hair. 
On swelUng bust and forehead proud 

And hquid eye, as thought was there. 
Then in the look there seemed a touch 

Of soft reproach, as who would say: 
Ah. Life was sad, and overmuch 

Of warfare mingled with the play. 

The little play of laugh and smile 
Atoned by sorrow's secret hour; 

The strife with evil, need, and guile 
Where love doth yield and duty cower. 

So seemed to say, with meaning clear, 

The soft eyes, closed two hundred year. 



TWO ROSES. 



There grew twin roses, each on swaying stalk, 

In the pale splendor of an Asian morn, 
When passed the angel Azrael by the walk 

That led from Eden, where of hope forlorn 
Earth's first transgressor went. And one was red, 

Full blown, luxuriant, and the gleaming dew 
Nestled in fragrance in its petals spread. 

And one was budding yet, and white, where through 
The dark green foliage slow the sunbeams crept 

To kiss it coldly. Softly there the twain — 
Passion and pureness — in the morning slept. 

And which will wither when I come again I 
Low whispered Azrael in the dawning day: 

For love may die; and love may live alway! 
40 



TJVO ROSES. 41 



II. 
There clung two roses, when the Asian sun 

Touched the horizon at its western rim, 
And twilight fell. In glowing purple, one 

Dropped withered petals to the shadows dim, 
On the dark earth beneath. And one, like snow. 

With heart unfolded to the azure sky. 
Lay fair and bright while darkness gathered slow. 

And Azrael, whispering softly, drew anigh. 
Which of the twain has withered? Stainless lies 

The calm, white bloom, from dawn to dusk and on 
To farther morn ? And then in sober wise. 

He gathered the red petals and was gone. 
The white flower bloomed when shone the farther 

day — 
For love may die; and love may live alway. 



MAGNOLIA GRANDIFLORA. 



It bore the blossom of a southern land, 

The leaf that sways where summer ever glows. 
Beside it grew the oak, on either hand 

The buoyant foliage of the maple rose. 
And purple beeches drooped. From wooded hills 

Came winds that had the coolness of the shade 
And freshness of the growing grass that fills 

The dusk recesses of each mountain glade. 

A tropic bud on adverse air had thrown 
The odor of its heart, its snowy bloom 
That withered ere to northern foliage known 

Was touch of frost or autumn's softened gloom- 
So One I knew died 'neath earth's alien skies, 
Child of the sunnier land of old called Paradise. 



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